The Quiz
by Kosaka
Summary: The Gryffindor boys take a compatibility test that forces Harry to come to terms with his feelings for a certain broody older man. But how will Snape take it when he tries to confess? Snape x Harry. COMPLETE.
1. Older Men

A/N: Complete at 5 chapters. Uploading them all at once. This Harry Potter obsession...is taking over my life.

Warnings: Slash. Snape x Harry. Don't like it? Don't read it. Pretty simple, huh?

Disclaimer: It's not mine. Obviously. I'm just having some good, wholesome, slashy fun, and of course, making no profit off of it.

**The Quiz**

Chapter One: Older Men

"What are you doing?" Harry asked blearily.

Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville were sitting on the floor of the boy's dorm. It was barely eight a.m. on a Saturday. Seamus had barked out a laugh so loud that Harry woke and pulled himself blearily out of bed.

"Compatibility quiz," Ron answered. "Oh, that's right. I don't think you've ever seen one, have you, Harry?"

Harry stretched a kink out of his back and sat down, thinking of those silly magazines the muggle girls read, but what was on the floor now wasn't a magazine. It was something that looked rather more like a large top. There was an orb of smoky, swirling light that reminded Harry distinctly of one of Professor Trelawney's crystal balls perched on top of a precariously balanced golden needle. This sat on top of a strange glyph etched onto a piece of thick black satin.

Harry shook his head and joined the group. "Don't think so."

"They're pretty funny," Seamus said. "Dean just got matched up with ol' Looney Lovegood."

"I wish you wouldn't call her that," Harry replied. "I know she's battier than a belfry, but she's still a friend."

Seamus shrugged a half-assed apology and Harry changed the subject. "What's it doing?" he asked, watching the needle swirl about on the glyphs. Gold shapes raised off the cloth as Ron sat staring at it in concentration. Neville had a booklet in hand and was asking questions. "Hair color?"

Ron frowned, "I dunno, mate, brown, I guess. As long as it isn't red."

"Shy, or outspoken?"

"Outspoken. 's hard enough to start a conversation with a girl as it is, without having to carry the whole damn thing," Ron said. After Dean's go, Ron almost looked afraid at who was going to appear.

"See, someone asks the questions, and you answer them. The right symbol raises up for the question you asked, based on what you say, and the tone of your voice and stuff--knows if you're lying, right?--so when you finish the questions, all those symbols combine, and the person you know that most closely qualifies to your tastes appears at the top."

"Has to be someone you know?" Harry asked.

"Well, yeah. What fun would it be if some stranger you've never laid eyes on showed up?"

"I guess I see your point."

Seamus suddenly started laughing again. He wasn't trying to be quiet this time, since Harry was awake now and there was no one left to disturb.

The smoke had moved and now Hermoine's torso was staring up at Ron with a sour look. Ron didn't seem to think it was as funny as Seamus did. "Alright, you think it's so funny, let's see who you get, Seamus," he said, snatching the book from Neville. Foggy Hermoine retreated, and the board reset.

"Okay, first," Ron said, "Favorite hobby?"

"Going to Quidditch games, obviously," Seamus said.

He answered the questions, throwing a goofy joke in whenever he got the chance. After about five minutes of this, the smoke swirled again, and the boys started busting out in raucous peals of laughter. Staring up at Seamus, hunch-shouldered and thick-browed was none other than Viktor Krum.

Harry noticed that Seamus blanched a little before joining in the humor. "You're turn Harry," he said, snatching the booklet from Ron.

"Me? What about Neville."

"Oh, I got my turn first," Neville said.

"Got Ginny," Dean pointed out, and Ron, like a good big brother, gave him a little 'don't even consider it' glare.

Harry shrugged and went down the list. He'd figured out by now his biggest problem with getting and keeping a girlfriend was the 'girl' part, but after Seamus getting Viktor Krum, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be the one most teased with who showed up at the very least. He tried to answer as honestly as he could. He didn't know exactly what his type was but as Seamus asked the questions he kind of tried to focus on things he liked when answering--dark hair, long was nice. Deep eyes, the kind that cut right through you. Older, definitely. He'd figured out by now that he'd been through too much and sometimes had a hard time relating to guys his own age--as friends, yeah, but a deeper relationship than that...probably someone who had a few years on him would be the best. Someone relatively quiet--he didn't have a problem carrying a conversation if he had to, but he'd have to slit his throat if he had a significant other who never shut up. It was nice to just have some quiet time once in a while too. Height? Taller. He was short enough, anyone shorter would have to be some kind of midget, he figured. It would be nice if it was someone who knew how to take charge--so he didn't have to think so hard once in a while. Not all the time, but if he was the driving force in a relationship Harry figured it would probably end up pretty turbulent and complicated.

He hardly noticed that the questionnaire had ended, lost in his thoughts, but when the smoke started to take form he snapped back to attention. The orb shifted and moved, turned dark, then took form...and every jaw dropped for a moment before Seamus started laughing so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye and clutch at his stomach. Dean and Ron were quick to follow. Even Neville had a stupid grin on his face. But Harry wasn't laughing. Severus Snape was staring up at him like he was the scum of the earth. Harry couldn't help but think every single prerequisite he'd set before the orb...Snape actually _did_ posses all those traits. _'Be careful what you wish for, huh?' _Well, however he thought about it, joke or not, Snape scowling up at him was a rotten way to start the morning.


	2. All I See is You

Chapter 2: All I See is You

Well, Snape was worse than Krum. That seemed to be what Seamus was thinking, because he teased Harry all the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Luckily, at nine o'clock on Saturday morning not much of the student body was present. There was Hermoine with her nose buried in a book; Ron saw her and became somewhat mute. Harry heaved an internal sigh. The sexual tension between Ron and Hermoine was so thick lately Harry honestly wished they'd just snog the hell out of one another and get it over with. Harry couldn't help the mental note that that silly game had been exactly right about those two--but these things were bound to come out proper once in a while, just by chance. It had been really weird at first--the thought of Ron and Hermoine--together, in a way that would not be polite to be together in front of him, but now he thought it would be better if they would just get it over with because the awkward silences were bad enough that sometimes when it was just the three of them he could imagine he'd suddenly gone deaf.

"Buck up, mate," Ron said, slapping Harry's shoulder. "Just a game."

Harry and Hermoine snapped to attention at the same time. "What game?" Hermoine asked. Ron suddenly clammed up again, but Dean Thomas said, "Seamus's mum gave him one of those compatibility tests. Says if he doesn't start talking about girlfriends soon she's gonna have to assume he's gay."

Harry snickered, remembering Viktor Krum.

"Oh, the girls have been playing that a lot lately too. They're popular now," Hermoine replied. "You got someone bad then, Harry?"

Harry's throat constricted suddenly and the boys started snickering again. He tried to tell her, really. It was just a joke, a silly game. He thought if _he'd_ gotten Viktor Krum, he'd have been able to just laugh it off too. It was just that nothing about Severus Snape was a laughing matter.

Ron saved him by leaning forward and saying quietly, "Snape." Hermoine's jaw dropped, but Ron quickly tried to soften the blow by saying, "Seamus got Krum."

Seamus punched him in the arm.

It was exactly this kind of thing, Harry thought, that made him feel so disjointed. Just, goofing off. Like kids. He'd been that way once, hadn't he? He felt like he'd lost that somewhere. One day it was just gone and he couldn't remember where he'd left it.

"Harry? Earth to Harry..."

"If you really think about it, he meets all the criteria though, doesn't he?" Harry blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

Everyone stared at him a moment before Dean laughed. "You're still half asleep, aren't you?"

"Well, maybe," Harry answered. It was easier that way, then something came to him and he smirked a bit. "Least it wasn't Malfoy."

The table erupted. It broke the awkward moment and he felt an odd sort of relief wash over him. It was just that it was all so fresh. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Death Eaters. Snape's near death experience, and the memories he'd never have let Harry see if he knew he'd have to face him again. And somehow, here he was at Hogwarts. It felt surreal. Sometimes he was sure he could feel Snape's eyes on the back of his head. He had no idea what the man was thinking, but he'd barely acknowledged his presence since the incident. He wondered if Snape's thoughts were anywhere near as complicated as his own. Snape didn't have to be a spy anymore. He didn't need to be utterly detestable to him to keep him safe, but he was still 'Potter'--a sum of his parts, like a patchwork quilt. Snape saw pieces of him, but not the whole picture. He wondered what Snape would look like too, if he stepped back far enough to really look at him, see what all those fragmented memories really added up to.

Harry shook his head. _'What the hell am I thinking about?' _

After breakfast Hermoine suggested he go back to bed. He looked exhausted. He agreed--it gave him an excuse to wander around with his ping-ponging thoughts. He was in such a daze that when he finally wandered back towards Gryffindor Tower, his leg got stuck in the magic stair. "Damn it!" It was something a first year would do. At least no one was around to see. He started tugging, but couldn't quite get the leverage to free himself.

"Mr. Potter, I am not going to judge you for how you like to spend your weekends, however, it is most inconvenient for the rest of us if you choose to take up half the staircase."

Harry's face turned rather red. He'd just been thinking about Snape, and here the man was as if he could read his mind. Like Snape would waste all of his free time trying to read the mind of one of his least favorite students. Yeah, right. "...er..."

Snape had obviously been coming from Professor McGonagall's office. She'd been coughing a bit in class the previous day. The empty vial in Snape's hand had probably contained some kind of potion to cure the common cold. Harry couldn't really focus on that though, not with Snape staring down at him in his prone state.

Snape stared for a few more moments before moving down the stairs far enough to reach out his hand. Harry looked positively humiliated when he took it and let the older man pull him out of the step. He grimaced as he found his feet again. His ankle hurt. Snape seemed to notice.

"You've sprained it," he said.

"I...no, just twisted a little. It's fine," Harry stumbled awkwardly.

"You're lying. Come with me, Potter."

"But..!"

"Stop arguing. Madam Pomfrey is quite busy just now due to a prank pulled by one of your classmates involving a hiccuping draught. You will accompany me to my office where I will administer the appropriate treatment. If you refuse, I will be forced to carry you."

Harry couldn't bear further humiliation for now, so his head drooped and he carefully limped along behind his professor. "Yes sir," he answered sullenly. With his eyes on the ground, he noticed something strange. Snape's usually long, purposeful stride had shortened until he found himself limping only two steps behind him. He could see the flow of Snape's cloak periodically interrupted along the way. Was he looking behind, checking up on him? That couldn't be, right? He didn't dare look up. His ankle throbbed, but the awkward thrumming of his heartbeat distracted from it.

He didn't realize they'd arrived at Snape's office until his head collided with the man's spine gently. "I...er...sorry."

Snape didn't answer. He opened the door and entered, holding it open. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk with his wand. It turned to face the door.

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat and did as he was told. Snape dropped to one knee and gently untied Harry's sneaker, pulling it and his sock away, pushing up Harry's pant leg a bit to inspect the damage.

It was bizarre. He knew why Snape was on his knee, that there was reason and purpose behind it. He just had such a hard time imagining Snape kneeling to anyone. He had too much pride. But he knew there must have been times when Snape had found himself on his knees, submitting to Voldemort, or maybe for other reasons, but he didn't like the thought of Snape bowing down to anyone or anything. He didn't know why.

His ankle tingled where Snape's wand touched it. It felt like a cool breeze was shifting just underneath the skin. He watched the older man carefully, the way his hair cascaded across his face, concealing his features. From above, Snape seemed more fragile. Not weak, really--it was more like he seemed somehow more human, or like he wasn't impenetrable, like things could really affect him and crack through his hard outer shell. He seemed more like the boy he'd seen in Snape's memories than the bitter, grouchy potions master.

The way Snape's hair fell, Harry could see into his thick collar. The skin was discolored. He realized it was scarred where Nagini had bitten him and the memory of Snape on the verge of death made Harry shiver.

"I know it's cold, but stay still. I'm nearly finished."

"It's not that," Harry answered. He hardly noticed his foot now. "Does it hurt at all?"

"What?" Snape looked up at him, his brow slightly etched as if he was trying to figure out what was going through the teenager's mind because what was coming out of his mouth made little to no sense.

"Your neck. I mean I...the scars..." Harry stumbled, took a breath. He could still remember how Snape had said 'look at me!' How badly he'd wanted to see Lily's eyes staring back at him in his last moments. "I mean..."

Snape looked back down, tucking his wand away. "Concern, Mr. Potter? It's a bit late for that, isn't it?"

"That's not fair," Harry frowned. "You don't make it easy for people to talk to you, you know. It's not like I could say anything before. And in case you didn't notice, you've been ignoring me." Words just spilled out of his mouth without warning.

"I haven't been ignoring you," Snape said after a stretch, pulling Harry's sock on with a snap. "I've been avoiding you."

A sharp laugh escaped Harry's mouth at the admission. It came out before he could stop himself. "Was that supposed to be a joke?" he asked.

"No."

"...oh." The silence between them became awkward again. Harry was painfully aware of the fact that Snape was tying his sneaker. "My eyes...are really that much like my mom's?" He didn't know why he'd asked. It just came out. He already knew that they were nearly identical.

Snape had gotten up and moved along the wall. His elegant fingers traced along a series of vials as if looking for a specific one. _'Elegant? I think they're elegant?'_ Harry wondered but was snapped from that thought.

Snape sighed. "...when I thought I was going to die, I did some things that I now regret," he said slowly. "I wasn't thinking clearly and I...did want to see your mother one last time, but all I saw looking into your eyes, Potter, was you."

Harry was shocked speechless as Snape pulled out a vial of pale blue liquid. "Take this. It is a mild painkiller. For the moment, you probably feel fine, but if you walk around on it too much there may be some irritation. One sip will be sufficient to dull the pain."

"You saw..._me_?" Harry blurted. He felt his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Snape frowned. It was obvious he didn't want to be discussing this. His personal thoughts were something he had always guarded closely.

"The eyes are the window to the soul, Potter. To look for a dead woman in yours was a most supreme folly on my part. Your mother would never have looked at me the way you did at that time."

"What did you see, Professor? In the way I looked at you?" He stood up and took a step closer. His body moved on its own. Harry had been distraught. He still couldn't quite get words to match what he was feeling. The closest he could get was 'tragic'. Dumbledore had lived a long, full life...but Snape had never really lived. That's what Harry thought anyway. And he owed Snape so many apologies. There were so many things he knew he should say--at least one for each of his years at Hogwarts. He couldn't say any of them, but at that time, it felt singularly devastating that he would never get the chance.

Snape's moment of weakness passed and Harry saw his shoulders tense. "We are finished, Mr. Potter. You may leave."

Harry was sure Snape wanted to tell him not to speak a word of what was said, but there was no way he could tell anyone something that could humiliate them both so completely. It was utterly private. He wouldn't share that instant where Snape had opened up to him with anyone, no matter what.

"Do I have to?" Harry couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. And he couldn't believe that he'd just suddenly grabbed Severus Snape by the wrist. It was an impulse, but he felt like if he left now, the damage would be somehow irreparable.

Snape turned sharply and stared down at him. Harry was sure no one had ever asked to _stay_ in his office before, and couldn't help a slightly foolish grin at the thought. He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest with the way Snape's dark eyes were staring through him. _'Merlin, he has the most amazing eyes,'_ Harry thought. "I...there are things I should say to you. Lots of things, but, I can't say them."

Snape quirked a brow at Harry's rambling. "Then don't say them," he stated after an extended silence. His expression was completely unreadable. There was this annoying little voice in the back of Harry's mind rattling off useless information:

_Hermoine and Ron are practically married already. Neville did ask Ginny to that ball. Dean and Luna get on pretty well now too, now that he's gotten past the fact that she's nuts..._

"Then what _should_ I say?" Harry stated at last.

"I should think 'I'll see you in class, Professor' would suffice, on your way out the door." Snape's equilibrium had been decimated. Harry didn't know what he was trying to accomplish, he just had a feeling that if he didn't force some kind of change in the way they dealt with one another now, it might never happen. He was still holding onto Snape's wrist, and daringly slipped his grip down and tried to twine their fingers.

Snape startled. He couldn't conceal his shock and pulled away. "What are you playing at?" he demanded.

It broke the mood, snapped Harry back to reality and he looked ashamed of himself. "I...no, I'm sorry, Professor. You're right, that...I was out of line. I'll just...I'll go now." He turned and ran out of the office, mortified.

_"Idiot! Stupid git! What were you thinking? How did you expect him to respond? You're just a kid to him, his student, at best. There's no way he'd ever...what were you even trying to accomplish?" _

But even as he demanded it of himself he knew. The compatibility test had only been a catalyst. Looking back the feelings burning sharp, painful coils into his chest had been there for some time--closeted and denied. Hatred turned to obsession turned to a very, very unconventional kind of love. _'Love? Right. He hardly speaks to me, and when he does it's almost never nice.'_ But there was more to Snape than what came out of his mouth! Harry knew it too well. What was under the constant barrage of insults, the subtle kindnesses hidden behind his veiled eyes, that's what drew him to the man. That's what made him feel like such an idiot for that episode just now. He'd probably get even more brutally abused than ever come Monday Potions for being so presumptuous.

As he ran up the stairs, determined to crash onto his bed and hide there until supper, his foot got caught in that damn stair again. The embarrassment and frustration was almost enough to make him cry. _'Defeated Voldemort, but life still sucks,'_ he thought. _'Brilliant. Why did it have to be _him_.'_

But he knew that deep down it probably always had been.


	3. The Bitter Truth

Chapter 3: The Bitter Truth

Harry Potter was a Gryffindor--one of its finest if what people told him was to be believed. Frankly, he wasn't so sure, but it was his pride and courage as a Gryffindor that wouldn't allow him to skip his potions lecture Monday morning, and that alone. He could hardly bear the thought of facing Severus Snape after the episode in the man's dungeon office...and the sequence of increasingly lewd dreams that had followed. Nothing had been able to improve his mood--even talk of Quidditch, and the now empty vial of painkilling potion that Snape had given him had to be returned. It had helped his ankle immensely yesterday, but did nothing for the more intense pain in his heart. Older men, indeed. Even if there was some tiny little sliver of Severus Snape that held something like affection for him, he would probably never see Harry as anything but a child--the son of the woman he'd love until the day he died. That was an even more bitter pill to swallow.

Harry had thought he knew heartbreak before. What he had actually known was a thorough pride-bashing and the end of childish crush. It couldn't be compared to something this intense and all-consuming. He prepared his potion as if sleep-walking. When it blew up in his face he knew he deserved it.

Snape vanished the disaster with a flick of his wrist. "Zero points again, Potter," he said, and Harry thought he sounded slightly exasperated. "My sincerest apologies, for interrupting your daydreams with my inconveniently scheduled lecture."

Ah, there was the razor-sharp wit Harry had been expecting. The Slytherin table started laughing heartily at Snape's comment.

Harry drooped. "I hate my life," he muttered under his breath. Why did Snape's voice have to echo hauntingly through his skull, run up and down his spine, even when his words cut like jagged shards of glass? It wasn't fair. The most reaction Harry had ever been able to get out of Snape was surprise. It was small comfort that no one else seemed able to accomplish that feat.

After class he told Ron and Hermoine he'd meet up with them in the library. He lingered, taking his sweet time packing up, and once everyone left, Snape said, "Is there something you wanted, Mr. Potter?"

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and moved up to the professor's desk. He reached his hand in his pocked and produced the vial. He should have placed it on the desk, he knew, but for some reason he held it out in his open hand. Snape would have to touch him to take it. "I...need to return this to you, sir," he said thickly. "It...was very helpful, thank you."

Snape eyed him warily a moment before taking it. His fingertips lingered on Harry's palm a moment too long. "Do you require more?" he asked at last.

"Oh, uhm, no sir. I'm fine now," Harry startled.

"I see." Snape was silent. Harry too. They just stood there staring at one another for a long few moments. "Well then, Mr. Potter, if you'll excuse me," he gestured that Harry should leave so he could lock up the classroom and be on his own way as well.

"...right." He grudgingly began to leave, but Snape stopped him.

"Potter." It seemed his words startled them both.

Harry turned. "Yes sir?"

"May I inquire as to the reason you are perpetually distracted in my classroom?"

"I...excuse me, sir?"

"It would seem that you are capable of a level of aptitude that you have, as yet, neglected to show in class. I am asking you what, Mr. Potter, has you so distracted."

"That would be you, sir," Harry blurted out before his brain managed to catch up with his mouth. He instantly regretted the words, but there was no turning back now. He swallowed and barreled forward. "I...I fancy you, sir."

"Excuse me?" Snape's voice lacked its usual calm.

Harry was glad to hear emotion cracking the man's voice, but doubted it was a good thing. He steadied himself and said more clearly. "I fancy you, sir. I think I have for quite a while now, but I only realized it recently."

Snape showed no sign of answering, so Harry barreled on. "I know it's totally one-sided. You don't have to tell me. I mean, there's no way you'd ever like someone like me or anything but...I can't help fancying you. I'd stop if I could. But...so...I'll try to pay more attention in class. I'll work hard to improve my performance and..."

Huh? When had Snape gotten so close? Harry had been staring at the floor, fists clenched at his sides. Somewhere in the middle of that babble, Snape had moved around the desk. His shoes were awfully shiny. "You're deluded, Potter. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know what I'm saying!" Harry insisted, looking up and locking dark eyes that looked far more vulnerable than he'd ever seen them. It gave him a newfound strength. "I fancy you, sir. I fancy the way your eyes cut right through me."

"Your are mistaken."

"And your long, shiny hair."

"You mean greasy." Everyone else called it that.

"No," Harry said, reaching up to tangle in a coil that had dipped into the man's collar. "Glossy. And your pale skin, and...and I hate the things you say to me, but I love the things you mean."

"You need to leave, Potter." Something in Snape's gaze seemed to have cracked. His shoulders were tensed and his jaw set, like he was fighting to keep something contained that would break the surface with a bit more nudging.

"You need to listen, and for once trust what someone's telling you!" Harry didn't know why he'd snapped like that. He'd come this far, so even if Snape slapped him or took a million points from Gryffindor, he didn't care. There was something more he was trying to say and the words kept pouring out. "I know you'll always love my mum until the day you die and that's okay. I don't think that just because you love someone, it means you can't ever love anyone else. And I know the chances of that someone being me are like one in ten billion, but that doesn't mean I can't fancy you anyway. I'm going to keep fancying you no matter how much you argue, or how many points you take or..."

Harry's eyes widened and his sentence trailed off as Snape grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and a ferocious kiss landed soundly on his lips. His fingers clambered and clutched tightly onto Severus Snape's robes. He felt like his entire body was melting. It was awkward and clumsy, but he didn't care. Snape was actually kissing him--not just kissing him, but devouring him. He moaned into it eagerly and felt his professor's tongue sweep into his mouth. It felt as if the man would lick his soul clean out of his body. He could hardly stand. It couldn't be real, could it? It was just some sick fantasy. Any moment something would explode, forcing reality back in, and he'd realize he was actually still in Potions, daydreaming.

But reality never beckoned. Snape eventually pushed Harry away as forcefully as he'd pulled him against him. He could hear his Professor's ragged breathing. His heart thundered in his ears. "...sir?" It was barely a whisper.

"Silence, Potter," Snape demanded, but there was a slight quiver in his voice. "For Merlin's sake, how do you expect me to think over your incessant babbling."

Harry clammed up, but it was hardly a minute before words spilled out again. "Sir, you...you used your tongue." Harry was startled, bu not complaining. The taste of that tongue, the feel of it sliding against his own had been absolute bliss.

In a very un-Snape-like gesture the older man slumped over the desk, facing the wooden surface instead of the boy he'd so suddenly accosted. "I'm turning into some dirty old man," he whispered grudgingly.

Harry's legs carried him forward to break the distance between them, unable to stop himself. He pressed his hand against Snape's spine. "Sir..."

Snape's head lifted to meet the teenager's gaze again and there was so much passion there that the older man couldn't quite conceal. "Harry..."

Harry's voice abandoned him. The sultry way his name rolled over the potions master's tongue seemed to set his spine on fire and he forgot for a moment how to breathe. His hand slid up the older man's back of its own accord, eventually stopping on his shoulder, which felt more slender than it looked under so many layers of robes. "...yes, sir?" he barely whispered. Part of him wanted to call the man 'Sev' like he'd seen his mother do in the pensieve, but he didn't dare.

Snape suddenly straightened up and shrugged him off, heading for the door. He held it open and nodded roughly. Harry had to leave. He couldn't help but feel highly disappointed. "It's time for you to go, Mr. Potter. I can't waste my entire day lecturing you about your complete ineptitude."

It was all a front. Lecturing? That had been the farthest thing from what they'd just been doing. "...yes sir," he said in a daze.

"...we will continue this discussion in detention," he said. Harry's eyes widened. "This evening at seven in my office. Do not be late, Potter."

Something in Harry's chest fluttered. He got the feeling Snape was already kicking himself for saying it, but far too proud to take back the words. Really, that worked to Harry's benefit. He'd never felt so excited by the word 'detention' before in his life.

"Yes sir. Of course, sir," he said, trying not to sound too eager at the thought of time alone with the object of his affection. He passed out of the room as close to his professor without it looking too obvious. His stomach was in his throat. His lips felt heated and swollen. His tongue was still savoring the taste Snape had left upon it. The sour mood haunting him since Saturday--he could barely remember it now.

_'Harry,'_ he thought dreamily as he headed up to the hall wearing what he was sure must be the goofiest grin of his life. _'Merlin, he has such a sexy voice. I can hardly bear it.'_

Seven o'clock couldn't come soon enough.


	4. Signum Portus

Chapter 4: Signum Portus

He'd been late to transfiguration. Couldn't bring himself to face Professor McGonagall at full mast. After the intense kiss Snape had given him, he'd run up the stairs to the Room of Requirement, because _god_, he needed somewhere to wank and didn't trust Moaning Myrtle not to find him in whatever restroom he chose and spy. He'd made quick work of himself, and ten minutes later when Professor McGonagall told him 'nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter', he apologized and said he was late because he'd been getting a lecture from Snape. Everyone bought it and McGonagall docked him five points for tardiness before continuing the lecture as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the day dragged. He kept glancing at the clock. Classes were too long. He rushed through his lunch only to find the time hadn't moved any faster, and afternoon classes were absolute murder. When he was certain everyone was distracted, he stole glances of Snape at dinner, but the man never met his gaze. He'd eaten briskly and excused himself early. Harry didn't delay much longer, and decided in the time that remained between supper and detention, to take a quick shower. He didn't know what possessed him, but when he got dressed again, he didn't put any underpants on and chocked it up to wishful thinking.

He didn't really know where Snape planned to take their so-called 'discussion' at this point. Once the man had an entire day to think about it, things could go very sour very quickly, Harry figured. But that didn't stop him from anticipating further intimate attentions from the object of his desire, and by the time he knocked on Snape's office door at seven p.m. his palms were sweaty and his mouth dry.

"Come in, Potter," the voice that he'd come to associate with his undoing said.

Harry entered and his breath caught in his throat. Snape's cloak and outer robes were missing. He looked much more relaxed with the first few buttons of his shirt unfastened, leaving two inches of flesh visible through the open v. The older man pointed his wand at the door, and Harry could hear the lock click behind him. There was also a dull 'pop'.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Signum Portus," Snape explained. "A spell to lock doors, and prevent intrusion. Anyone walking by will know they've passed my office, but will have no inclination to approach. Also, _mufflatio_. You know that one, I believe."

"Yes sir." Harry knew it too well. It was a charm that prevented unwanted parties from overhearing what was being said. He moved uncertainly forward. Merlin, he wanted this man to a degree that bordered on depravity. He sat stiffly down across from Snape, where the man had gestured with his wand before lowering it to the desk. He didn't know what to think. On the one hand, Snape was allowing him the privilege of seeing him without so many layers on. He was more slender than Harry expected, not skinny, but somewhat feline--lean and graceful. On the other, the man had drawn a line in the sand, keeping the desk between them as a barrier.

"I believe it's for the best that we are not interrupted," Snape said.

"Yes sir," Harry answered, flushing a bit to find his voice hoarse and raspy with need. He couldn't quite contain it and cleared his throat awkwardly.

Snape pushed a glass of water across the surface of the desk, but didn't say anything right away. It seemed a full day wasn't enough for the man to make a solid determination on how to deal with what had happened between them this morning. Harry realized he'd gone without some of his usual layers to test his reaction and see how deep Harry's desire. He was sure his reaction was obvious, but he didn't know if Snape counted that as a passing grade or a failing one.

_'Merlin! Please make him say something!'_ the silence was driving Harry mad.

It was then that Snape moistened his lips. Harry's eyes were drawn to the gesture, and the memory of their earlier kiss sent new shocks of pleasure down his spine.

"You understand, I am sure, that I am old enough to be your father," Snape said at last.

"But you aren't my father," Harry answered. And thank god for that, because incest was very, very wrong.

Snape ignored this and continued, "and you also understand, I presume, that I am your teacher, and that what you desire of me is highly inappropriate."

"Does that mean you can get fired?" Harry asked. He didn't want that. If it was the case, he would guard any secret liaisons between them with his life.

Snape seemed to pause and give thought to this. Hogwarts was a unique school with a unique headmaster. There was really no telling. "It is a possibility that I will not be hasty in ruling out," he said and continued before Harry could interrupt again. "And you also realize that I have loved your mother, deeply, for the better part of my life and have no intention of banishing her from my heart." He looked sternly at Harry. "Do not answer recklessly, Harry. Understand that I can never be completely yours."

Harry already knew his answer, but gave pause to think of how to reply in a way that would satisfy Snape. "I'm glad that my mother had someone in her life who was so devoted to her that even death couldn't break that bond," he said slowly. "And...I don't think anyone can ever belong fully to one person. That kind of fairy tale romance is just...well, frankly sir, it's ridiculous. People are much more complicated than that, don't you think?"

The way Snape's shoulders relaxed a fraction told Harry the answer he'd given was a good one.

"I must ask, Potter, just when your absolute loathing for me became something else."

This was a more difficult question to answer. Harry had to figure out how to explain what he'd come to realize. "I think, to some level, I was always fascinated by you. But you were horrible to me, and I was a child, so it was easy to assume my feelings were hate. What else could they be? I'd never really known love. I was too young to understand it when we first met. And as time went on, it was just easy to continue hating you. You went out of your way to make it easy. But hate and love are very similar, I think. The intensity of one can only really be matched by the intensity of the other. It was easier for me, I think, with all that was going on over the years with Voldemort, to presume my obsession with you was hatred. I began to question that during Occlumency, and more later. I think maybe I started to see you the way Professor Dumbledore saw you. But it wasn't until recently I realized what my feelings for you really are. It's not fair though, to say my feelings have changed. I just wasn't able to understand them. I tried not to think on them much. But now that Voldemort's gone, I've had a lot of time to think. And certain things happened recently that made me realize what an idiot I've been where you're involved."

"May I ask what these 'certain things' are?" Snape leaned forward a bit, and Harry realized he'd piqued his curiosity.

He blushed. "You'll tease me."

"I will try not to," Snape offered. No promises though.

"Well," Harry flustered and fidgeted under the man's intense gaze and had to look down at the desk to find his voice. "It's stupid..." he admitted. "But the guys, they were doing this compatibility test in the dorms. You know, the...it's a game..."

"Ah," Snape answered. "I see. Those are often...alarmingly accurate."

Harry's eyes widened and he looked up at the man. Snape had leaned back. His fingers were laced in front of his chin, a finger pressed to his lips as if in thought. Harry couldn't help but feel this warm bubble rupture in his chest and a short bark of laughter escaped.

Snape quirked a brow at him. "You've...taken them, sir?"

"Don't look so alarmed," Snape huffed. "I was a teenager once too. They go through phases of popularity."

Harry couldn't help a grin. Snape sounded so put-out to have to admit it. The teenager stood suddenly, leaned forward over the desk. If Snape didn't touch him soon, he was going to scream. The older man looked startled. "Are you done asking questions now, sir? Can I ask one now?"

Snape seemed to search his eyes for some hint of what he must be thinking. He gave a tight nod, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he was signing his own death warrant.

"When are you going to stop over-analyzing every little detail of my thought process and rip my clothes off?"

Snape's eyes widened in shock. Even Harry was surprised at his own audacity, but there was no taking the words back, and that expression on Snape's face was too priceless--he wanted to etch it into his memory for all time. He leaned further over the desk and laced his fingers through Snape's hair, pulling the man's head forward and planting a kiss on his lips that he hoped could communicate at least something of his desire. He used his tongue, begging Snape for entry, and moaned when it was reluctantly granted. They devoured each other's mouths until oxygen became a very pressing need, and parted roughly.

Harry leaned forward to start anew, but Snape's finger on his lips stopped him. The older man stood, let go a shuddering breath, and pressed an incredibly tender kiss to Harry's scar. "Merlin help me," he whispered in a defeated tone.

Harry understood now. Snape was questioning him, trying to find some flaw--some reason to desire him less, but Harry had somehow managed to answer in ways that decimated his resolve and made it impossible for him to refuse the younger man. He watched Severus carefully as the older man made his way around the desk, breaking the self-inflicted barrier between them. His expression was difficult to read, but Harry thought he saw a mirror of his own desire echoed in the older man's gaze. He swallowed again, trying to get some moisture in his throat, and let out a shuddering breath when Snape placed a hand on either cheek and crushed their lips together in a bruising, lusty kiss. He moaned eagerly into it, tangling his fingers in the long dark hair that he was so oddly infatuated with. When they pulled apart, he smirked. "Thank Merlin," Harry said. "I'd have felt like an idiot if I'd gone commando for nothing." And he smirked when Snape shuddered slightly at the admission. The smirk turned to a grin. "Professor..." he exhaled. Right now, Severus Snape just seemed so incredibly _cute_. He leaned in for a kiss, and this one was softer, less urgent--not that it did a damn thing to lessen his desperate need for the incredibly complex and jaded man he'd fallen for.

"Severus," Snape corrected after a slight pause. "Privately, please don't call me 'Professor', Harry."

Harry chuckled and curled his arms around Snape's shoulders. "Severus." He let it roll over his tongue. He loved it, said it again. "Severus." He pressed their bodies tightly together and watched the older man flinch a bit. His body and his common sense seemed to be vying for control. "Severus," Harry whispered, dragging his fingertip along the older man's lips, further along his jaw and dipping into his collar. How could he have ever--in his life--thought of this man as anything less than absolutely gorgeous?

But Snape pulled away. Harry pouted, and the older man's lips curled up a little. "Not here," he said. Harry didn't see why not, after all the efforts Snape had gone through to see they weren't overheard. His entire body was humming as he watched Snape gracefully move to a bookshelf. He moved a polished crystal from one side of the scale to the other and murmured something Harry couldn't quite make out. The shelf disappeared, revealing a plain wooden door. Snape murmured something else, but no matter how closely Harry listened all he made out was the 'alohomora' at the end. The lock clicked and he turned the knob, pushing it open. He held the door, waiting for Harry to follow.

The fireplace cast a warm glow over yet more bookshelves, a comfortable looking--if well-used--chair with a messy stack of books beside it, and on the far end, a large four-poster bed with a Slytherin green comforter. Harry thought it looked like it was meant for two. And then it dawned on him as the door sealed behind him that he was standing here in Severus Snape's personal quarters.

"If you're having second thoughts..." Snape said slowly after watching him for a moment.

"No!" Harry blurted a bit too eagerly. "I was just...I mean...it's nice. I never imagine you'd have, you know...throw rugs, and...things."

Snape's lips quirked very slightly. "Disappointed that my personal quarters aren't as dismal as you were expecting?"

Oh Merlin, he was enchanting. Harry broke the distance between them. "It's nice," he said. It seemed like he shouldn't be so needy now. He should slow down. Have some warm, tender moments, but he couldn't curb his desire for the mysterious and enchanting Professor Severus Snape. He dragged his fingertips down across Snape's neck until he reached the top button of his shirt and began to fiddle with it. "What about you?" he asked. "Second thoughts?"

"Merlin yes," Snape admitted. "And third, fourth, twelfth...but they have nothing to do with my desires and everything with my common sense." He ran his fingers through Harry's perpetually tousled hair and tilted the teen's chin up into another kiss.

Harry thought he would melt. The hesitation he'd felt in attacking the man with his maddened desire upon entering his personal sanctum evaporated with that kiss. His fingers started clumsily fumbling with the buttons of Snape's shirt. It was like his hands had become numb--he couldn't seem to make them work properly and Snape...Snape actually _chuckled_ at him. Harry froze and looked up to find such warmth staring down at him from those deep black eyes. Snape pulled his hands away and slowly began to unbutton his shirt himself. Harry thought he was going to lose his mind as the white cloth slowly dropped from pale shoulders and fell to the floor. Harry could only stare. "I believe that's what you were trying for?" Snape asked with a soft smirk.

"S-severus?"

"Mn?"

"Bed, please? While I can still stand..." It was humiliating to admit it, but if he tried to move now he was sure his legs would fail him.

Snape pulled him tightly against his pale chest, devoured him in a kiss, holding him up in a powerful embrace. When their lips parted, Harry was surprised to find himself scooped up bridal style and carried across the room. He fell on the bed with a flop. It was the kind of mattress you felt like you could just melt into. Snape didn't say anything, silently undoing the fastenings of Harry's robes and sliding them away.

"Harry," he murmured longingly, taking in the young man's rumpled and wanton appearance. "You're quite certain...?"

"Oh for the last time Severus, _yes!_ For Merlin's sake, yes. Stop analyzing everything to the last grain of sand and have your way with me before the anticipation kills me," Harry answered desperately. It was sweet that Severus was so concerned, but he could hardly bear it. "I'm a little slow on the uptake, sure, but I'm not fickle. Once I know what I want, there's no changing my mind, and Severus, what i want is _you_. You feel the same for me, right?"

Severus stared down at the boy for a long moment before caving in again. "Yes, Harry. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, all I want is you."

Harry smiled up at him and lifted his head to share another deep kiss. "Then hurry up and take what you want, Sev," he answered. "I'm not good with waiting."

"Which would explain why your potions are always so abominable," Severus quipped, but he didn't protest further, leaning over the boy and trailing kisses over his torso as he proceeded to undress him.

There was no telling what tomorrow would bring, really, but as Severus settled himself over the younger man, it seemed to be with the understanding that tomorrow was still hours away...

...and that he intended to make good use of those hours.


	5. The Morning After

Chapter 5: The Morning After

When Harry awoke the next morning, he was aware of two things. The first was the warmth and weight of the comforter over him. The second was that he was definitely the only person in the bed. He blinked awake and rolled over, fumbling for his glasses, though he had no idea where he'd left them. He patted at the nightstand blindly.

"A bit to the left," Severus said. Harry grabbed them and sat up. Okay, time to take stock. This wasn't Gryffindor Tower. Good. And he was clean, but naked. That was promising. And his ass felt kind of numb. Wonderful. And Severus Snape was standing only a foot away, putting two cups of tea and a plate of fruit slices on the nightstand. He was wearing pants, but nothing else. Disappointing, but excellent. Add it all up and it was proof that last night wasn't just an incredibly vivid dream. Harry grinned brightly up at his lover and smirked at the way the older man's gaze slid away from his almost shyly as he sat on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around Snape's shoulders. The man tensed a bit and Harry frowned. "Don't," he said sternly.

"Don't?" Snape asked.

"Don't start over-analyzing it all now. It's too late. I like you. You like me. I'm of age," he smirked a bit as he added, "and you're not so old that you can't keep up."

"That is _not_ the problem," Severus protested weakly. "You're a teenage boy. A student. You're expected to do reckless, childish things. But I...at my age I should be able to control myself."

Harry sighed. "Have you ever thought that maybe what you _really_ need is someone who it's okay to lose control around once in a while? Honestly, do I have to think of everything?" he teased. "Do I have to distract you out of your over-used brain again, because I'm willing," he added, nipping lightly at the older man's shoulder.

"Stop that. Go shower. Try to think of something to tell your friends when they ask why you never made it back to the dorms last night."

"I fell asleep studying in the library."

"Something people will actually believe, Harry," Snape sighed, but Harry heard a slight hint of exasperated amusement in his voice.

"Oh, I know. I was having sex."

"Harry!"

"Not with _you_. I mean, who would ever believe that?" He straddled Severus's hips playfully. I mean, if I told people that my type was broody dark haired older men full of biting sarcasm and shy smiles, they'd either think I was joking, or tell me such a person didn't exist, right?"

"...I'm not broody."

Harry smirked against his throat. "I could have called you snarky."

"...fine," Severus answered. "I'm broody, then."

"Just leave the excuses to me. After all these years, I've gotten rather good at them." Harry stopped further protests with a deep kiss and was rewarded by Severus Snape's arms wrapping around him.

* * *

Around eleven, Harry walked into Charms with a note from Madam Pomfrey stating that he'd just been released after a fever that had overtaken him during detention last night.

"Right in front of Snape?" Ron leaned over and whispered. "That's rough."

Harry was barely able to keep himself from grinning. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he replied before changing the subject. "What's with Hermoine?"

"She's been like that since breakfast. I managed to get out of Parvati that they were playing that compatibility thing this morning, haven't been able to get a word out of her since. Girls are just weird, ya know. It's just a game."

"Oh, I dunno. I hear they can be alarmingly accurate," Harry answered casually.

A silence passed. "Harry you...uh...I mean...you don't really think..." Maybe Harry shouldn't have said that. Ron was obviously thinking of Snape.

"No way!" Harry answered in a harsh whisper. He had to change the subject quickly. "I mean, come on, Ron. Don't even joke. Seamus and Viktor Krum? That's impossible."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, you're right. It's just, you know," Ron grinned. "Seamus IS really obsessed with Quidditch, huh?"

"Totally."

It probably wouldn't take his friends long to put two and two together once Hermoine was feeling like herself again, but until then, Harry didn't want to share the _real_ Severus Snape with anyone.

~ The End ~

A/N: There is a Viktor/Seamus fic called 'Rival Hearts' that serves as a prequel to this story.


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